


Gnawing at the Wool Over My Eyes

by WithTheKeyIsKing



Series: Sladick Fics [9]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: (lil bit), Angst and Tragedy, Bat Family, Batfamily Feels, Bittersweet Ending, Captivity, Conditioning, Dick Grayson Has PTSD, I Wrote This Instead of My Final Paper, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lima Syndrome, M/M, Not Happy, Protective bat family, Recovery, Rescue, SladeRobin Week, SladeRobin Weekend 2019, Stockholm Syndrome, but it doesn't happen here, kind of???, opportunity for happy ending?, question mark?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 11:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18637633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithTheKeyIsKing/pseuds/WithTheKeyIsKing
Summary: "Damian, stop!" The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, and his little brother freezes, eyes wide.He simply wants to understand, to understand why Dick is defending someone who just...The problem is, Dick doesn't understand it himself. All he knows is that he can't let Damian kill Slade.





	Gnawing at the Wool Over My Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Hurricane_ by P!ATD (let punk never die ;))
> 
> Heyyyyy this is my 60th work! Go me!
> 
> (Now I really need to go work on my term paper but it's fine it's not like I'm internally screaming or anything.)

"Damian,  _stop!"_

The words are out of his mouth before he's even made the decision to say them. His little brother freezes, blade poised above Slade's heart, and tilts his head to look at Dick. His eyes are wide, incredulous, maybe even frightened. He's searching Dick's face for an answer that the older hero simply doesn't have.

He wants to understand, but Dick can't help in that regardhe doesn't even understand it, himself.

"Put the sword down, Damian," Dick says, his voice soft. He's afraid to raise it, afraid that if he startles his little brother, the young Robin will follow his instincts and plunge the blade right into the mercenary's chest. "It's ok, let's just talk."

Dick doesn't know what he'll even say, if Damian agrees. He doesn't know how he could possibly explain why he's protecting Slade, after  _everything_ that's happened the last eight and a half months. After everything his brothers  _know_ happened.

Damian's arms waver, and slowly lower. His attention is still focused solely on Dick. Slade, smartly, doesn't move an inch.

The mercenary looks  _awful._ He's beaten and bloody, the combined work of the entirety of the bat clan. Dick had tried to run interference, but his siblings and father were ferocious, and the fact that Slade is still breathing is a certified  _miracle._

"Dick," Jason says gently, "come with me, ok? Let Tim and I get you cleaned up, and we can go home."

But Dick doesn't move, his eyes fixed onto Damian's. His heart is so loud in his chest, but he somehow manages to keep the panic off his face.

"It's ok," he says again, offering Damian a small smile. It takes a lot of effort to make it look real, to not let it shake. "C'mere, Dami."

"You should go with Todd and Drake, Grayson," Damian tells him, but his brow is furrowed in confusion, his tone almost as lost, lacking its usual confidence and bolster. "Father will be back soon as well."

"Dick," someone else says, and Dick can see Cassandra out of the corner of his eye, head tilted in worry. She doesn't say anything else, but she doesn't have to.

Next to her, Stephanie is practically vibrating with fury. Cass' hand on her wrist seems the only thing holding her back from attacking.

"Let's all go home, then," Dick agrees, but calling the Manor  _home_ grates something in him, and he barely keeps his eyes from flicking down to where Slade is lying. "Come on, Dami, let's go home."

"I do not understand," Damian mutters, and his gaze flicks to where Jason's voice came from before going back to Dick. "This man has hurt you, Grayson; why do you wish to spare his life?"

 _I don't know,_ Dick thinks desperately, but at the same time,  _He wasn't as bad as he could've been,_ but also,  _He didn't really want to hurt me, Damian, he just-_

"Wing, let's go." Tim, this time. All his siblings. Normally, that would bring him comfort. But right now, all Dick feels is fear.

It's been just about eight and a half months since Slade took him. Eight and a half months since he saw his family, and the Manor, and the skyline of Gotham. Eight and a half months since he's had as much freedom as he does in this moment.

And yet, he's never felt more boxed in.

He decides to try a new tactic, and looks to Tim.

"You can't let Damian kill him," Dick says keeping his voice calm and rational. "Don't betray the morals you believe in for one single man."

Tim just looks sad. Jason is the one to reply.

"Dick, Bruce isn't here at the moment," his brother reminds him. His voice is patient. Dick's surprised by it; normally, Jason would be snapping and yelling by this point. "So with you right now you have two ex-assassins, _me,_ and two heroes who have already shown themselves to be ruthless when it comes to family. None of us are inclined to spare Deathstroke at the moment, not after everything he's done."

And now Dick is feeling desperate, because that's not a lie. Without Bruce present  _(where the fuck did you go, B, you were_ just here _a moment ago!)_ Slade could easily be killed and then they could say it was an accident, or Jason would take the credit and it would be just one more murder between him and Bruce.

Dick can't let that happen. He can't. He  _can't_

"I understand," Cassandra says. Dick's head whips towards her, meeting her steady gaze with what's sure to be a wild one of his own. "Slade is persuasive."

Suddenly Dick is reminded of the fact that Slade captured Cassandra once, too. He didn't do to her what he did with Dick, but he controlled her. He made her his weapon, for a time.

"Cass, no," Dick murmurs, shaking his head. "This isn't...I'm sorry for what heyou have to understand, he isn't..."

He doesn't even know what he's trying to say. Cassandra doesn't look bothered by it.

"He is," she says simply.

Dick flinches when he feels a hand on his arm, not having heard Jason approach. He doesn't want to look at his brother, but he can't hold Cassandra's eye anymore, either.

Instead, his gaze shifts to Slade.

The mercenary is staring right back at him. He looks far calmer than Dick feels, especially considering  _Slade_ is the one beaten to a pulp with the threat of death looming over him. But somehow, Slade's gaze is clear and steady. Comforting.

"Please don't do this," Dick whispers, unable to raise his voice above that. He's still staring at Slade but he's speaking to Jason, to whatever part of his brother that will do as his big brother wants instead of what he thinks is best. "Please, Little Wing."

"This is Stockholm Syndrome, Dick," Jason replies, and squeezes Dick's arm gently. "He kidnapped you, and you had no human contact except for him for eight and a half months. He raped you, Dick, and beat you, and held you captive. This isn't love, big brother."

 _I know that,_ Dick wants to scream. Or, at least, he keeps reminding himself of that. But if he has Stockholm Syndrome then Slade definitely has Lima Syndrome in return, definitely feels attached to him, too.

Or maybe that part's just an act. Maybe Slade's been pretending this whole time and laughing behind his hand as Dick's psyche was tricked into falling for him. Maybe that's all it ever was to Slade, a game. Maybe even this, right now, with his steady gaze, is just a manipulation.

If it is, it's a damn good one. And the problem is that Dick truly can't tell. The bigger problem is he doesn't think that matters enough.

"Maybe," Dick croaks an agreement, nodding. "Yea, Jay, probably, butbut even if that's true it doesn't...it doesn't change how I feel so you can'tplease don't do this." He turns a pleading look on his brother. Jason meets his eye easily, unwavering. "Jay."

"Do it, Damian," Jason says, never even breaking eye contact with Dick.

"No!" Dick yells, darting forward, but he's not faster than Damian's sword, and it goes straight through Slade's heart.

A scream makes its way up his throat but chokes off at the back of his mouth. He falls to his knees and watches as Slade gurgles on blood before falling limp, his one good eye going dull.

"No," he says again, barely more than a breath. No, no.

"Dick, is that...is that blood?" Tim asks.

 _Of course it's blood,_ he wants to scream.  _You all killed him, you shoved a blade through his heart, he's human, he bleeds_

"Shit, guys, he needs medical attention like  _now,"_ Tim continues, his voice urgent.

_Medical attention? You're the ones who did this, you can't take it back now._

"It's deep," Stephanie says grimly, and her voice is far closer than Dick expected it to be. "We need to move him." Suddenly he realizes that there are multiple pairs of hands on him, and that they're not discussing Slade.

"Oh," Dick says faintly. "You mean me."

He looks down, sees Tm's hand pressing firmly against a wound that Dick can't even feel. He's sure he will soon, since his adrenaline is crashing quickly. _Dying doesn't sound so bad,_ he muses, and then when the darkness rises, he lets it take him.

* * *

The first thing he becomes aware of is voices.

"...break him, you can't...need help..."

"...trying, alright? We all want...safety is the..."

"Stop fighting, he needs..."

It comes in and out, none of it making sense, so many of the words blending together. He doesn't move or speak, doesn't want to rise past the hazy fog surrounding him, doesn't want to confront the awful things he knows are waiting for him.

He loses consciousness again.

* * *

When he wakes up the next time, things are a bit more clear. The room is quieter, too, less people moving about. Just the steady beeping of a heartrate monitor and two familiar breathing patterns sitting near him.

"Be honest with me, Jason; did Damian do it on purpose?" Exhausted, pained, afraid.

"Yes." Bold, unrepentant. "Are you going to punish him for it?" Confrontational, almost angry.

A sigh, world-weary. "No."

Silence fell.

"You should've seen him, B." Soft, vulnerable. "He was begging us to let Deathstroke live, to let him go." A pause. "How are we supposed to help him? He was pleading for the life of his rapist and torturer and screamed when he died. How could we possibly make Dick understand?"

"Eight and a half months is a sizable time for captivity." Just as soft. Just as vulnerable. "With everything Wilson put him through...Dick's mind had to rationalize it all, or he wouldn't survive. Stockholm Syndrome is the brain's survival mechanism, and no one has a say in it. Even  _without_ having to watch Slade die, transitioning back in regular life would've been hard for him." A pause. "I don't know what to do, Jay. I don't know how to get him through this."

"...Me either."

Silence falls again. Dick slides back into unconsciousness.

* * *

He dreams about Slade.

More specifically, he dreams about the first time they had sex.

Well, he supposes he can't  _quite_ call it sex. Sex is what he and Babs had, what he and Kori had, what he and Roy had. This was...

So Dick dreams about the first time Slade raped him.

In the dream, just like it was in reality, he screams. He thrashes and claws, fights to escape. He yells insults and bites out pleas and never stops resisting. But Slade's expecting it-

_(Always knew you'd be a fighter, kid)_

-and he ties Dick down, spread eagle, easily sliding between the younger man's thighs. He squirts some lube and starts to prep him-

_(Damn, you're so tight, kid, can't wait to be inside you)_

-and it doesn't take him long before he removes his fingers and lines his cock up. He ignores Dick's writhing body and his screams and his begging and shoves right in, fast and brutal and uncaring-

_(Oh, little bird, how long I've waited for this)_

-and then worst of all he makes Dick like it, hits his prostate over and over again, strokes his cock-

_(My little slut, you want me too, just admit it)_

-and Dick sobs as he comes. He blacks out, then, and so the dream ends.

His next dream is the first time rape with Slade felt like sex.

His writhing and screaming and begging this time is for more, arching towards Slade, wanting everything the mercenary is offering.

There's a smile on Slade's lips like victory and Dick doesn't even consider that maybe his food was drugged, maybe this is just one more way for Slade to get into his head after  _months_ but frankly Dick is too tired to actually give a shit so he moans and doesn't yank at the ropes binding him to escape, yanks at them to get closer instead, and this time he's awake when Slade comes inside of him.

He vomits afterwards and can't bear to be touched, but Slade holds his hair back and tucks him against his chest anyway, uncaring for what Dick wants, just like always.

 _(You'll learn to love me,_ he coos, and Dick is too afraid to admit that maybe he already is.)

* * *

The next time he wakes up, it seems to be for good.

He blinks open his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, the florescent light buzzing irritatingly.

He can hear the quiet murmur of voices just a few feet away, and then, right at his bedside, someone says, "He's awake."

The talking stops. Footsteps start, approaching his bed.

Dick tilts his head, seeking out the person who'd spoken, and sees Tim next to him. His brother looks awful, dark circles under his eyes, his skin an almost sickly pale. But there's something about him that's still so  _strong,_ just like always. Built of stronger things than steel.

"How are you feeling?" someone asks, and Dick glances up to see Bruce, who looks just as awful as Tim.

"You both need sleep," Dick mumbles. "Have you eaten? You need..."

"Even half-dead," someone on Dick's other side murmurs, a wry note to their voice, "Goldie will find a way to take care of the rest of us."

"Shut up, Jason," Tim says, but there's no heat in his voice, only sad commiseration. "Dick, answer the question."

"I feel...fine. Numb," Dick replies. But then he blinks, cranes his neck to see the clock on the wall; half past seven.

Panic tightens his chest. "But I have to get up, I can't laze in bed. Training started half an hour ago, I can't be late." He starts to sit up and cries out at the stab of pain the movement causes.

His brothers pop to their feet, jerking forward along with their father. Their expressions are stricken.

"No, Dick, hey, lie back, it's alright-" Jason tries to soothe.

"No, you don't understand, I'm late, I have to stick to the schedule, I don't want to be punished, lemme go-"

There's heartbreak in his father's eyes when Bruce says, "You've been excused today." His voice, despite his gaze, is perfectly calm. Rational. "You...did so well yesterday, and your reward is a day off to sleep in."

Tim and Jason exchange a sick look, but Bruce keeps steady eye contact  _(now just as calm as his voice)_ with Dick as the young hero allows himself to relax back onto the bed.

"Oh," he says faintly, nodding. "Right, ok, that's...good. I did well?"

Bruce pulls in a slow, shuddering breath. "Yes, Dick. You did really well."

Dick lets his eyes slide shut, body slumping in relief. "That's good. I...I made him proud?"

Silence for a moment, then someone clears their throat. Bodies shift.

"Yea, Goldie," Jason croaks out, "you did. Now...now get some sleep. You'll feel more clearheaded later."

"Ok," Dick mumbles, settling back. He smiles. "Thanks, Jay. It's good to see you again."

"...You too, man. You too."

**Author's Note:**

> Might write a sequel to this, because I like this story and I like the idea of exploring all the conditioning that's in Dick's brain after eight and a half months. We'll see if I do it lol.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
